


Frigid Figments

by crowdedangels



Category: Longmire (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, F/M, S2e01 - Unquiet Mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 19:32:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17290052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowdedangels/pseuds/crowdedangels
Summary: "Really? You're dying and THIS is where your mind goes?"





	Frigid Figments

**Author's Note:**

> Someone (ProfessorTennant?) mentioned a 'what if Vic appeared when Walt was hypothermic and hallucinating' and finally my brain focused enough to write the damn thing.

“I could warm you up,” Lizzie crooned, the negligee highlighting all of her curves in tight, black lace. The silk robe fluttered around her in the chilled breeze, her hands stroking around her toned body. She looked nothing short of gorgeous.

 

Despite the incredible chill racking through his bones, his hands numb and contorted from the ice water and snow, he couldn't help but enjoy the view. 

 

“ _ Really _ ?” 

 

He looked to her side to see Vic in her uniform, hair loose around her shoulders and arms folded, hip kicked out. She looked at Lizzie - hands still caressing her curves, tempting him - with a mixture of disbelief and disdain, and then to him with the same and maybe a little disappointment. “Really?” She asked him again, her hand gesturing to Lizzie like he had lost his damn mind. “You’re dying and  _ this  _ is where your mind goes?”

 

Lizzie turned, flicking the robe out and flashing thigh and skin, looking over her shoulder with a sultry smile. 

 

Vic had had enough, “Put some damn clothes on.”  Lizzie flicked her eyes to her before back on Walt. “It’s minus-fucking-whatever out and you're not helping.”

 

Vic stepped forward and crouched between Walt’s legs, her hands on his knees and dark eyes boring into his, imploring him to pay attention. “Walt Longmire, you fucking listen to me, y’hear? You really think Miss Thing here is going to be in this  _ shack  _ wearing  _ that? _ And if she’s not really here then I’m not really here but that doesn’t mean I can’t knock some fuckin’ sense into you.”

 

Her hands slid up his thighs, his eyes watching their journey. “Listen, hypothermia is setting in so you gotta get up, you gotta make a fire, you gotta warm up and then you gotta get up that damn mountain and knock that guy six ways to Sunday! 

 

Y’see, I'm definitely a figment of your imagination because when have you ever heard me say that? We don't say that in Philly. It’d be more like…  well you can't think of anything, further proving we're from your mind, but you know it'd have a lot of ‘fucks’ in it. Or ‘shits’. And you'd be secretly impressed with the imagery but outwardly stoic if not a little disgusted.”

 

He managed a smile at that. 

 

Her eyes turned soft, almost pleading, “You’re imagining me for a reason, Walt, and that's to talk some sense into you. You know I'm telling the truth, so please, Walt,  _ please.  _ I can't let you die on this fucking mountain. I can’t lose you.” 

 

He reached out, his hand caressing over her cheek. But she seemed so _ real _ …

 

She moved out of his reach, standing in front of him with her arms crossed, hip kicked out again and a look on her face that could have scared off hypothermia itself. “ _ Get up, Walt! Get the fuck up! I will keep shouting at you until you fucking get up!” _

 

“Alright,” he wheezed, “Alright. Quit yer…” he hobbled to his feet, his body hunched over and pain everywhere. “...Bellyachin’.”

 

He turned to ask her if she was happy now but she was gone. Lizzie too. It was just him in the cold and the soon to be dark. He turned to the broken window, sure he heard Vic’s voice echo on the frigid wind _ , “For fuck’s sake, Walt. Go!” _

  
  



End file.
